


Promise

by eyezonlyii



Series: Red and Black (but mostly Grey) [1]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 12:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1605128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyezonlyii/pseuds/eyezonlyii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bane takes care of those he cares about, even when he's gone.</p><p>Barsad will always be there for Bane</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Misunderstandings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/705207) by [Doombringer (d00m)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/d00m/pseuds/Doombringer). 



> So I really just found the whole Bane/John Blake fandom and WOW!!! Where has this been all my life?!??!?! Anyway I've read most of the stories there, but there are a few that really stuck with me. And as much as I love them all, I tend to like the ones minus the kidnapping thing, because...well dubious consent and all. 
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> As I said, I loved most of the stories I read, and then I discovered another character in the comics and then plot bunnies came along, and well now this has happened. Don't worry, I will name Barsad's partner in the next piece. I didn't do it this time because I didn't want to take away from the main point.
> 
> Based on the series Black and Blue (and a little Red too) by Doombringer. All discrepancies in between the two works are mine.

“Where the fuck is he?” Joe whispered to himself, the words billowing up in puffs against his face as he rubbed his hands together. The fog wasn’t lifting ( _Of course there_ _’s fog, this is fuckin_ _’ Gotham goddamn City_ ) and clouds dragged across the sky, obscuring the moon and plunging the streets below into near total darkness. Gulls cried overhead and the waves lapped against the shore in a rhythmic slosh. He pressed the scope against his eye, scanning the area for what seemed to be the millionth time. Still seeing nothing, he let the rifle slide to the rooftop and crouched after it. His legs were aching from standing for so long, and if he didn’t take a fucking piss within the next five goddam minutes, he was going to burst. _Fuckin_ _’ Cokes,_ he grumbled inwardly as he lit up a drag.

Cobblepot had a nice little operation going. Well a few operations, really. Joe’s mission tonight was to guard the dog fighting ring. He preferred the nightclub for obvious reasons, but as a hired thug, he really didn’t have too many options. Even though the Red Hoods hadn’t been seen for a few weeks, Cobblepot was still paranoid; an attitude that kept him in the black, both in business and in life.

It was a simple enough job, and one that Joe needed badly. All he had to do was sit on the roof and watch. If he managed to not fuck this up, then surely a promotion would be in order after everything he had done for _the_ _Penguin_ , especially after that job that went south in Amusement Mile a couple months back; he shivered at the memory of what happened to Ed. The guy was a creep, but even he didn’t deserve…that. He’ll never look at a puppet the same way again. Joe smiled though, planning on what he would do with some extra money. If all went well, he might even be able to afford some new shoes for his baby girl. Her mother would at least appreciate that.

He paced for a few more minutes after that, the pressure building until he couldn’t take it anymore. Just when he had himself out and ready, because fuck it, he HAD TO PISS, he noticed movement in the alleyway below. Cursing as he put himself away and hefted the rifle into position, he grinned as the faint blue V made its way to the center of his scope. _This is too easy_.

He traced the figure as it crept from the dumpster to a car sitting on blocks. Even with the night vision on his scope, it was still difficult to follow his movements as he seemed to somehow be able to melt into the darkness.

A shadow fell over Joe as the gravel crunched under a light boot. Without warning, he was pulled away from the ledge, a garrote cutting into his throat. Panicking, he pulled and clawed at the thin strip, each breath burning as he exhaled. He struggled to form words, to scream, to do anything, as his head began to throb and his movements slowed. 

He threw his elbows back and took some solace in the fact that he was landing blows. He grunted and squirmed, but the thrashing only pulled tighter against his airway, and he could feel himself slipping under. As the darkness closed in, and his eyes rolled back, he caught the glint of red above him.

 

* * *

 

The thug hung limp in his arms, and Barsad was tempted to let him go. This man probably had someone who cared for him, someone who needed him to come home, and thus would be hurt by his death. It didn’t matter. He was but one of many in a city full of low men who would kill for nothing more than a few scraps of whatever crumbs the elite left them, clearly the people of Gotham learned nothing from their ordeal at the hands of the League. Barsad himself was no stranger to death, either dealing it or losing comrades to it, but for every death he caused, there had been Purpose. Even now, as he tightly gripped both sides of the man’s head and jerked it violently, there was meaning in his action. It may not have been for the reason he originally came to this cesspool, but it was no less important to him.

 

* * *

 

_Barsad drifted in a listless doze, marveling in the fact that he could lay in a bed with nowhere to go, nothing to do. For far too long, his life had consisted of subsistence living, eschewing anything not essential. Beds were only needed for physical rest, or release. Usually the previous day would end and the next would begin, no dreams, no lounging. If the biological need became too great, it wasn_ _’t frowned upon for the men (or few women) to couple together and return to their duties the next day. Everyone understood the arrangement and no one questioned it._

_Now was different though, now he could sleep in whenever he wanted. He glanced down at the other sleeping form that coiled around him and smiled as the memories of the night before and all the months prior came to him again. It was still early, the sun just peeking above the horizon and casting a faint glow filtering between the thin sheets that hung in the windows. There was no glass, and a shiver coursed through the other body when a light breeze caressed the air. Barsad pulled the blanket back selfishly taking in the sight of the skin beneath him. It was a veritable map of the young man_ _’s life, and as he traced the fresh bruises from the night before, he bit back a wave of pride, and also one of shame. The bruises he left were overlaid on old scars, and while he wasn_ _’t aware of it at the time, he was a bit rougher the night before than he usually was; more than likely an effort to cover his past failings with a reminder that he will always be here, with him now._

_As way of apology, he gently kissed along the colored marks, rising up the thighs, across the stomach and over his chest. Each area was covered in old scars and fresh markings by Barsad, and the higher we went, the more pain that pulled within his own chest because the worst part, the part that nearly tore him to pieces was ever closer. He screwed his eyes shut; mentally preparing for his biggest failure, the reminder of the time he almost waited too long and lost the very person he never knew he wanted._

_Across his neck, just above the other man_ _’s collarbone, was a deep scar, wide and ugly, jagged as it cut across the soft skin. Reverently, he brushed both his lips and fingertips across the old wound and an image flashed through his mind: this body lying on the ground, blood pouring forth; Barsad screaming and bones breaking as he fought through the men responsible; and finally looking into fearsome grey eyes; eyes that until that moment had commanded his utter devotion, but had been tinged with regret._

_Now though, in this morning, his partner was safe, and Barsad would stop at nothing to ensure that he remained that way._

_He spent a few more moments gazing at and stroking the tawny skin below him before finally resigning himself to meet their most uninvited (but most certainly welcome) guest who had made himself at home within the last half hour. Standing from the covers, Barsad placed a gentle peck on the other_ _’s cheek before pulling on a pair of shorts, more from a sense of propriety than any type of actual shame, as Barsad had lain bare before Bane in all manner of speaking many times. The action was largely symbolic; Bane_ _’s was no longer the most important impression in his mind._

_He sidled into the living area, not even arousing a glance from the other man as he reclined on the tattered sofa, pawing through an old magazine. Bane looked almost as fearsome as ever, the only difference being imperceptible to anyone but Barsad and_ _…_

_Before he could finish is thought, Bane turned, and Barsad saw the slight narrowing, then widening of his eyes as he noticed the shorts. Just as Barsad had hoped, the significance was not lost on the other man, and he clenched his jaw and stood just a hair straighter, readying himself for recrimination. Instead, the larger man_ _’s eyes crinkled slightly behind the mask, the only indication of a smile anyone would ever get._

_“It would seem I had taken for granted what privilege I had been given before._ _” The words were muffled through the metal tubes covering his lips, but Barsad could hear the amusement in them regardless._

_“And if our roles were reversed, would you not be as I am now?_ _” Barsad countered, moving through the doorway to sit next to him. He knew about Bane and the detective, just as Bane knew about the other man in the bedroom beyond._

_A small shrug was all that answered him, yet even still, to the man who served as his loyal lieutenant and oftentimes lover for many years, there was no denying the affection that rippled through his large frame. Then, as suddenly as he was tender, his eyes turned mournful, then outright enraged._

_Barsad_ knew _that look; the look that said there was a goal in mind, and no obstacle would stand until that goal had been reached. He stilled having long ago learned the art of patience when it concerned Bane; the man_ _’s ire was as a slow swell: unstoppable, inescapable, and utterly devastating. As if he sensed the tension in the room, Bane turned to Barsad and without preamble stated,_ _“Bruce Wayne still lives._ _”_

_Bane was an eloquent speaker. He could rouse an army of ten against a city if need be. Barsad had been on the receiving end of many a speech of his, each one just as empowering as the last. He could orate for hours on end, using both his mask and massive bulk to impart his message. But when he needed to, when he really meant it, he could distill all his passions into just a few words and even fewer inflections. Those four words just spoken carried meanings that could cover pages of a novel and Barsad swallowed as he picked up on every one of them._

_Had this been two years ago, during the occupation, there would be no question. Barsad would already be in the room packing the meager necessities he would need; those four words the beginning of yet another mission. His dedication was always to Bane; not to the cause of the League of Shadows, as they were just a means to be able to serve this man; not to Talia either, her revenge was not his, his only reason for accompanying her was because Bane had wished it. But now, he had more, he had another and he couldn_ _’t just leave, not after he finally was beginning to have something meaningful._

_But he knew if Bane asked, he would go. He always would. They were Brothers, and even should his heart be broken, spirit crushed and body destroyed, he would never abandon his Brother._

_Bane looked directly into his eyes, and even if he could, Barsad would not hide his uncertainty. If Bane asked_ _…_

_Lowering his gaze, Bane turned to look out the window, studying the sun as it rose higher in the sky. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to Barsad._ _“I only have one request of you, Brother. I wish for you to keep him safe in my absence. Let no harm come to him. I do not wish anything else._ _” His grey eyes returned to Barsad, beseeching in his appeal. Barsad swallowed, relief spreading through him at not having to relinquish his contentment along with regret for being selfish and unwilling to part with it._

_“Know that I am truly happy for you Brother, for you have found the companionship you so desperately avoided. I would not ask for you to abandon your Purpose for my own._ _” He sounded so defeated, so_ _…pained. Barsad had never seen Bane broken like this, and he had seen Bane at many low points._

_“But Brother,_ _” Barsad began, not willing to let him go so easily. Bane had lived for Talia, pledged to give her anything he could; so long as he breathed, she would want for nothing._ _“Have you not found the same pleasure? A companion worthy of your attention?_ _” Barsad knew he was treading of sensitive territory, after all, he and Bane had such a history together, but he pressed on,_ _“surely he means more to you than_ _…”_

_A meaty hand seized his throat, fingers digging into his flesh. He froze; the pain from the grip ringing in his ears._

_“Speak carefully Barsad. This is your only warning._ _” The hand was lowered and Barsad surreptitiously gulped air into his aching lungs before starting again._

_“I mean no disrespect,_ _” he whispered,_ _“I only mean to say that the detective has freely chosen to be_ _…with you. Despite what you have done to his city and all manner of things he may or may not have imagined you to have done before that. I am merely trying to state that, would it not be preferable to start anew? Take this second chance as a means to live as you would choose?_ _” Barsad finished quickly, pulling away from Bane in further into the corner of the couch._

_Bane stood, his eyes flicking from the light to Barsad, to the bedroom. He shook his head ruefully._ _“I cannot permit Talia_ _’s death to go unpunished. Would you not feel the same for mine?_ _”_

Yes. Yes I would, _Barsad thought._ _“I will guard the detective as I guarded you, Brother. This I promise._ _” He stood, and again Bane poured through his gaze. Satisfied, his eyes crinkled again._

_“Blake,_ _” he stated as he moved to the door._ _“His name is John Blake._ _”_

* * *

 

It had been a month since Bane’s visit, and Barsad had kept true to his word; tailing Blake as he scouted some of the more dangerous areas of the Narrows and infiltrating a few organized crime operations. It’s how he gained access to the fight tonight.

He made his way inside, nodding to the doorman as he entered. The place was packed, the din of the crowd and the snarling of dogs a thunderous noise to his ears. He made his way over to the betting area and sat down, his right hand worrying the inside of his jacket pocket. If this were Bane or Talia, or even his lieutenant, Simon, he wouldn’t be worried. Barsad knew his place with any one of them; could formulate a plan of events depending on whom he was partnered with. Bane knew this, knew how Barsad operated: with time and strategy. But there had been no time for research, no time to get to know how Detective Blake operated, all he knew was that Bane had trained Blake and thus would have to let him take the lead. He chuckled, setting his helmet between his legs and settling down into his chair.

“It’s a goddam bloodbath!” one of the hired men leaned over to whisper-yell to him. Basad only nodded, his focus on the man and woman sitting at the other end of the room. There was something vaguely familiar about them…

A faint shuffle flitted from above and Barsad schooled his features, not wanting to give any indication that he heard it. The woman sitting on the man’s lap from across the room shifted positions; she heard it too. Barsad reached further into his jacket, grasping the string within.

The lights suddenly cut out, and all the cheering and jeering turned to cries of anger and confusion. He heard the hum of current and saw the blue V as it dropped to the ground. In one motion, Barsad leapt from his seat and pulled his hand from his pocket, throwing on the night vision goggles that he had been toying with.

Once the room lit up in fluorescent green, he was stricken with admiration at the efficiency of Blake’s strikes. The batons were almost second nature to him, and Barsad only needed to step in to throw a few “misguided” punches of his own to thin the crowd. He stepped into the fray, needing to keep his cover and allowed Blake a few hits before taking a dive, feigning a blow to the head so Blake could chase after one of Cobblepot’s lackeys. All in all it was going well; until he heard the door slam and the tearing fabric.

 He wondered how often Batman got his cape stuck in a door.

 

* * *

 

 

Barsad waited until the Batpod rounded the corner before stepping into the alleyway. He snapped his helmet into place, the flash of red in the rearview mirror catching his eye as he swung his leg over the motorcycle that “mysteriously” appeared in front of his hideaway along with said headgear. All in all, it wasn’t a bad showing for the detective, certainly more entertaining than he thought it would be anyway.

If this continued, maybe they could both live up to their promise.

 


End file.
